


Thursday I Don’t Care About You

by parxbois



Category: call me by your name - Fandom
Genre: Call me by your name, Drabble, M/M, elio perlman - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 02:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15014231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parxbois/pseuds/parxbois
Summary: Something short I wrote a while ago





	Thursday I Don’t Care About You

I stirred, mumbling to myself, and twisted in my blankets. My eyes opened slowly, glued together with sleep, and my mouth felt oddly dry, my lips chapped. I’d left my curtains open the night before, and sunlight streamed in, beams casted onto the wooden floor. A quick look at the sky told me it was around noon and I’d slept for about sixteen hours, an undisturbed, dreamless sleep. It had been my eighteenth birthday the day before: everyone had gathered in the villa for a surprise party, and I’d feigned content, except there was none, because the one person I needed to be there was not present and it had upset me beyond words even though I knew the chances of Oliver being there were slim to none. The sun-dappled sheets were rough on my back, and I scratched my neck, to rid some invisible itch. ‘Elio!’ My mother’s voice made its way upstairs, into my bedroom. ‘Elio!’ I writhed in my twisted sheets, unwilling to move. I longed to wallow in self pity for the day and dwell on sun-kissed, precious memories of Oliver, as I did often when a day so reminded me of him. ‘Yes, I’m coming.’ I called, and kicked off my blankets.  
‘What?’ I snapped, with the kind of sharp, brusque tone I usually reserved for boys I didn’t get on with at school, or Mafalda when her doting and protection got to be too much, and annoyed me. I didn’t mean to be so short with her-but she’d dragged me from my bed by calling for me and I wasn’t in the best of moods. ‘It’s Oliver,’ My mother said, handing me the red telephone. I raised an eyebrow as she left me with the phone and went back to the kitchen to help with dinner. Oliver had only rung three times since his departure. Once, to announce his imminent marriage, secondly, to inform us of the publication of his novel on Heraclitus (which I read, with enthusiasm, in two days, and loved) and thirdly, to wish my father a happy birthday and to apologise for not being able to attend the celebrations, for he was tied up with other engagements, which he did not specify, and I didn’t care to dwell on. I decided, selfishly, that since he’d not rung in three months to speak specifically to me, that I would not indulge myself and speak freely to him, in the way we had, all that time ago. I’d let him speak and reply monosyllabically. ‘Elio?’His voice came through the phone clearly, the honeyed tone melting me in the way it once had and I knew always would. E-li-o. The barriers I’d put up came crashing down as I heard his voice say my name, as though it was all he cared about. No one else, not even my parents, said my name like he did. ‘Elio.’ I joked. He sighed, breathing out, a sound of pleasure. ‘Oliver.’ I sat down on the chair beside the telephone table, because hearing his voice, no matter how long it had been, would always make me feel like the air in the room wasn’t sufficient, like my legs could not hold my body up, like I was the only one he cared about, the centre of his universe. ‘I miss you.’ He said, the line crackling. ‘You’re married. It isn’t right to speak like that,’ I pointed out. ‘How is she?’ I wasn’t sure who I was referring to- I was not aware of her name, let alone anything else about her. Did she read? Did she travel? Did she play any instruments? Was she like me? ‘The wedding didn’t go ahead. That’s why I rang, I’ve just told your parents. I wanted you to know, too.’ I was happy when I heard that, and instantly felt a pang of regret, because I shouldn’t have felt any sense of contentment, not when Oliver was telling me something such as this. ‘Sorry.’ I offered, truly. ‘That’s alright. To be honest, Elio, after you- I couldn’t be with anyone. It was you, or it was no one. And- I think-it’s you. And you don’t have to say anything, you can end this call right now if you like, but I wanted to tell you. I wanted you to know. Is that okay?’ I was in shock. The words I had dreamed of him speaking were suddenly falling into my ear and I wasn’t sure what to say, how to react, whether to cry or get on the next plane to New York. ‘I suppose you’re alright too.’I smiled. ‘Is that so?’ I could hear his grin. ‘Yes.’ ‘I’m glad.’ There was silence for a moment. ‘Your parents want me to come and stay next month.’ He said. ‘For a few weeks. I told them that if you said it was okay, I’d come. Thoughts?’ I smiled, excitement setting in. ‘Please.’


End file.
